


Journeys

by ancalime8301



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Great Hiatus, Hurt/Comfort, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pre-Canon, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2052561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson, then Holmes, reflects on his travels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Journeys

**Author's Note:**

> Written (late) for the [watsons_woes](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/) JWP [practice prompt 10](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1043541.html): _Your practice prompt: The Grand Tour. Travel is supposed to broaden one's mind. Did it work for the character of your choice? Make the answer part of today's entry._  
>  Also fills my [hc_bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) square for "homesickness"

As a child, I was jealous of those who could afford to travel the world and see the wonderful sights, taste the exotic foods, learn the customs of far-off countries. I read many books and traveled in my imagination, but it was not the same as touring Europe or the African continent for myself.

The opportunity to travel was one of the reasons I joined the Army. A lesser reason, it is true, but it was part of my consideration. It seemed a dream come true that I was sent off to the Indian subcontinent, but the thrill of new places quickly grew stale.

In the midst of desert, I dreamed of the green hills of my homeland. Amidst the scrub brush that cast so little shadow, I longed for stately trees that could cover an entire house in their shade. Under the unforgiving glare of the midday sun, I imagined the cool brush of snowflakes on my face.

I was wounded, then became ill, and my longings for home translated into vivid hallucinations that seemed more real than the heat and the moaning soldiers on cots around me. It was a disappointment to regain my senses and find I was still in India.

I was sent back. The sight of the shoreline rising up before our boat made my heart ache in an entirely unexpected way. But while I was 'home' in the sense of being physically in Britain, I felt adrift, having no anchor of friends or family to moor me, so I gravitated to London, a place where I might still be known to some.

Even then I knew not what to do with myself. I was restless, seeking a home, a purpose, and uncertain how to obtain them. Stanford found me . . .

And then there was Holmes.

 

While I went abroad a few times in my youth, I had gone no farther than the typical schoolboy destinations in France, Germany, and the like. In that sense, my travels to evade the dangerous remnants of Moriarty's gang were welcome, for they took me far afield. I made use of the opportunities to explore and expand my knowledge on several points, especially through the exploits of the Norwegian, Sigerson, and for a time I was very nearly content in my lot.

But invariably the sights and smells and sounds would remind me of home or those I dearly wished to tell of my experiences but could not, and that disappointment cast a pall on my journeys. I began penning numerous letters I could never send, then burned them in a fit of pique. I fled from those feelings at first, and sought peace in the mountains of Tibet.

I learned a good many things there, not least of which was to acknowledge that I missed those I had left behind. I resolved to use that feeling of longing to motivate my remaining work, for I had begun to weary of the constant vigilance required of me. My route after that was in the general direction of England; at each step I could feel I was getting that much closer to my goal, though I lingered in certain places for there was much to do along the way.

I began to dream of home, and the longing became almost painful. I moved more quickly after that. Then I received a message from my brother, and I knew I could not tarry any longer. I plotted out the means of my return that very night.

I was going home.

To Watson.


End file.
